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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24355702">Clint Barton Does American History</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_born/pseuds/mountain_born'>mountain_born</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Marvelous Tale of an Agent, an Archer, and an Assassin [58]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Crossover, Doctor Who/Avengers Crossover Fusion, F/M, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:20:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,714</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24355702</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_born/pseuds/mountain_born</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>American history mostly survives.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amy Pond/Rory Williams, Clint Barton/River Song</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Marvelous Tale of an Agent, an Archer, and an Assassin [58]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/34399</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Clint Barton Does American History</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As ever, thanks and kudos to like-a-raven who not only beta-ed this story, but contributed the two final sections!</p><p>I have not meant to be AWOL for so long; it’s been a rather crazy handful of months.  My dad passed away unexpectedly in November.  Then there were holidays to deal with.  Then we started dealing with a global pandemic (and I do hope everyone is safe and well).  But in the past month or so I’ve started to get back into writing mode and remembering how happy writing the Marvelous Tale makes me.  </p><p>So, this is an easing-back-in sort of fic, just a series of fun vignettes about Clint Barton getting to take on American History.  The vignettes are scattered through our favorite SHIELD agents’ association with the Doctor.  Happy reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>July 1999</i><br/>
<i>SHIELD Headquarters, New York</i>
</p><p>Clint Barton sat at the conference room table, arms folded, glowering at the man sitting across from him.</p><p>Agent Coulson didn’t seem to mind, or even notice. It had been about two weeks since he had checked Clint out of military prison and brought him to this new agency.  In that time Coulson had been nothing short of patient and good-humored.  Clint had been prodding at that facade, curious to know how far it extended, but Coulson hadn’t cracked yet.</p><p>Clint’s bad attitude today though wasn’t an attempt to get Coulson to show his true colors.  It was a direct result of the folder sitting in front of the agent. </p><p>“So, we’re just going to go over the results of your educational evaluations,” Coulson said, flipping the file open like it was no big thing.</p><p>Clint’s stomach knotted and his scowl intensified.  “And what happens if I didn’t pass?”</p><p>Coulson looked up with a placid expression.  “As I explained before, Barton, this isn’t a pass or fail situation.  Normally new prospective agents come in with records and transcripts.  In your case, understandably, that wasn’t an option.”</p><p>Clint actually wasn’t sure how “understandable” dropping out of school in the eighth grade to run away with the circus was.  That had to be just a little bit on the weird side, didn’t it?  And his schooling before that had been kind of a mess.  He’d been bounced through different foster homes and schools since the age of seven.  It hadn’t exactly made for optimal learning conditions.</p><p>Coulson seemed to read his mind.  “We know your education has been spotty, and that’s not your fault.  These evaluations are just to help us figure out where you are, and from there we can start helping you fill in the gaps.”</p><p>Clint absorbed this information suspiciously.  His former boss, the US Army, hadn’t seemed to care about his lack of education so long as he could snipe hostiles for them.  His marksmanship scores had been more than enough to make them overlook a lot (well, up until insubordination had become an issue).  Clint had expected SHIELD to be more of the same; those marksmanship scores had been what caught their interest enough to send Coulson down to recruit him.  </p><p>But Coulson had assured him, in that first interview at the prison, that SHIELD was different.  SHIELD valued the sort of independent thinking that had landed Clint in prison in the first place.  SHIELD wanted him to be more than just hired muscle with good aim.  SHIELD would give him a chance to grow.  Clint had silently called bullshit, but he’d signed on the dotted line willingly enough.  It was a no-brainer; freedom and a job beat incarceration.</p><p>But if they were making him go through all of this testing, maybe SHIELD really did intend to put its money where its mouth was.  Clint just wished they could do it without making him squirm through this part.</p><p>Agent Coulson ran through the summary of results matter-of-factly.  Clint’s background in science and history was sorely lacking.  Math was fifty-fifty; he was solid on what he’d been taught, but he hadn’t gone past basic algebra in school.  He’d managed to pull off a good score in geometry, though.  It looked like there was something to be said for practical application. </p><p>His scores in reading comprehension, grammar, vocabulary, and literature were also very high.  Coulson even commented on it.  </p><p>“You seem to be pretty well-read.”</p><p>“Everyone needs a hobby.”  Books were Clint’s preferred way to spend downtime.  They could be come by cheaply and were easily portable.   </p><p>“You’re also fluent in Polish,” Coulsin added, the question heavily implicit in his voice.  </p><p>“There was an old man, Mr. Moscowitz, who was with Carson’s Carnival.  He was Polish.  He taught me.”</p><p>“Why?” Coulson asked curiously.</p><p>Clint shrugged.  “I think he wanted someone to speak Polish with.”</p><p>“Fair enough.  That’s good, though.  It’s a sign that you pick things up quickly.  You’re clearly bright; that’s borne out by your IQ score.”  Couslon tapped a number on the page in front of him.  Clint deliberately didn’t try to see what it was.  “We’ll rework your training schedule to fit in general education classes.  I’d guess we can have you ready to take the GED tests in about six months.”</p><p>“You’re kidding, right?” Clint blurted before he could stop himself.</p><p>Agent Coulson just smiled that friendly, slightly amused smile that would become as familiar to Clint as his own reflection in the mirror.  No, as it turned out, he wasn’t kidding.</p><p>Clint took his GED tests two months ahead of the projected schedule, and he passed with flying colors.  By that time he was comfortable enough with Coulson to let the agent see his smile when he read his results.  Clint thought that would be the end of his SHIELD-sponsored education.  But then over Thanksgiving dinner in the mess hall, Coulson had started talking about college.  </p><p>“I’m too old to start college,” Clint protested.  </p><p>Coulson gave him a disbelieving look.  “You aren’t even twenty yet.  You’re exactly the right age to start college.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay.”  He had to admit Coulson had him there.  “But I have a job.  I’m in training to be an agent.  SHIELD didn’t hire me to bail out and go to school instead.”</p><p>“You won’t be bailing out.  You’d still be training and working for SHIELD,” Coulson said.  “But SHIELD has deals with Columbia and NYU to allow employees to do continuing education.  You can take a class or two at a time, go at your own pace.  It might take more than four years, but you could earn a degree easily.”  Coulson looked like he was about to start pulling out brochures.  “Promise me you’ll at least think about it.”</p><p>Clint did think about it through the final two months of his SHIELD training and his first handful of missions.  On one hand, it seemed ludicrous to think he could go to college.  On the other hand, Clint had to admit that he had a new life now and a lot of things that had seemed unattainable before were now possible. When his twentieth birthday rolled around in May, he went to his handler, who sometime over the last few months had become “Phil” rather than “Coulson,” and said that he was ready to pull the trigger, academically speaking.  One advisory conference and a few forms later and Clint was enrolled at Columbia University as a History major.  </p><p>“Why History?”’ Phil asked.</p><p>“I always wanted to know more about it,” Clint said.  Traveling around with Carson’s Carnival he’d always liked to stop and read the historical markers in whatever town they were in and wished he’d been able to learn more.  “Besides,” Clint added, “it’s what you majored in.”</p><p>Clint didn’t miss the small proud smile that crossed Phil’s face.  </p><p>“Well, I think you’ll enjoy it,” Phil said.  “You’ll be great.”</p><p>“Hope so,” Clint said, eyeing the syllabus for this first class and trying not to feel intimidated.  He wanted to learn history.  It looked like he was going to be learning with a vengeance.</p><p>To Clint’s profound relief, Phil was right.  Clint held his own as a college student in the beginning.  Then he started exceeding expectations.  Then he began to excel.  He enjoyed putting work into his classes and he whiled away a lot of hurry-up-and-wait hours in safehouses doing his reading.  Even after Clint earned his degree (with a fancy diploma and everything) he kept reading history books on his own.  For a field of study that he had kind of picked at random, history had become something of a passion.  </p><p>Then, years later, an opportunity that history buffs the world over could only dream of fell into Clint’s lap.  He met a time traveler.  Suddenly, history was more than just an academic subject.  And as it turned out, there was a big difference between studying history and living it. </p><p>“All of Time and Space.  Anything that ever happened or ever will,” the Doctor said cheerfully, spinning around the TARDIS’s control center.  It was early days; Clint, River, and Phil had just started running with the Doctor.  “Where do you want to start?”</p><p>“Jesus, how would you ever pick?” Clint muttered.</p><p>He would have sworn that the Doctor was too far away to hear him, but. . .well he was an alien.  God knew how his ears worked.  A second later the Doctor literally bounded into Clint’s space with a wide grin.</p><p>“Pick a favorite.  Something you always wanted to see first-hand.  Off the top of your head, first thing that pops into your brain.  Go.”</p><p>“Um.  Well. . .”  Clint cast a helpless look at River who looked at once sympathetic, amused, and curious.  “There is something I always thought would be cool. . .”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><i>December 16, 1773</i><br/><i>Boston, Massachusetts</i><p>“Barton, make haste!”  The young man jogging ahead of Clint turned just enough to beckon him onward.  “We don’t want to miss out.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah.  Right behind you.”  </p><p>Clint followed his guide through Boston’s dark, cobbled streets.  He was fairly sure the guy’s name was Benjamin, but he wouldn’t stake his life on it.  Things had gotten a little chaotic back at the Old South Meeting House.  He wasn’t even sure where River and Phil and the others were.  That thought probably should have scared the shit out of him.  What if he got lost?  What if he got stranded?  It wasn’t like SHIELD could send extraction teams into the past.</p><p>At the same time, how fucking cool was this?  He was in Boston in the run-up to the American Revolution, and this night was really going to kick things into high gear.  And it wasn’t like the rest of his group didn’t know where the action was going to go down.  They’d find each other at the Harbor.  </p><p>As they wound their way through the town, Clint could hear and occasionally catch glimpses of other shadowy figures in dark side streets and alleys, all of them moving in the same direction.  Back when he’d first started taking history classes, one of the first papers he’d had to write had been about the Boston Tea Party.  (He’d gotten a B+.) The history books said that anywhere from thirty to one hundred thirty people had been involved.  Based on what Clint had seen, he’d put that number at the higher end of the spectrum.  After Sam Adams’ meeting had broken up, Clint had been swept to a nearby tavern with nearly two dozen Sons of Liberty to quickly prep for the mission, and he knew they were far from the only group.</p><p>He had politely turned down the offer of Mohawk warrior attire, which many of the men were wearing by way of disguise.  Clint knew (from that same paper) that the disguises had been meant to be a symbolic gesture, a way of saying that the participants were Americans and not British subjects, rather than an attempt to pin the crime on local Native Americans.  But twenty-first century sensibilities still won out.  A few people had looked puzzled by Clint’s black SHIELD uniform, but had ultimately just shrugged.</p><p>Clint followed Benjamin down an alley which spit them out at Griffin’s Wharf.  The three ships that were the target of tonight’s mission were moored just ahead.  </p><p>“<i>There</i> you are!” a voice immediately to Clint’s left exclaimed.  </p><p>Clint had to move very fast to keep Benjamin from bludgeoning the Doctor across the head with his club.  Thank God for SHIELD reflexes.</p><p>“Woah!  Easy.  He’s a friendly,” he said, grabbing Benjamin’s arm.  At the man’s confused look, he added, “He’s on our side.”</p><p>Benjamin shook his head and lowered his club.  “Well then, advise your friend to keep his voice down, Mr. Barton.  We want to avoid alerting the authorities if at all possible.”</p><p>“Did everyone else make it out of the hall okay?” Clint asked the Doctor as they fell into step behind Benjamin.  He wasn’t really concerned.  River and Phil were with them and were more than enough to handle any violence Colonial America could throw their way.  </p><p>“Oh, yes.  They’re fine.  They’re all somewhere down that way.”  The Doctor waved toward the warehouses in the distance.  “River said to tell you, and I’m quoting here, <i>break a leg, but not in the literal sense because the TARDIS doesn’t have transporters and I don’t want to have to carry you back to it.”</i></p><p>Clint grinned.  “Scottish girls.  They’re all heart.”</p><p>“I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me <i>how</i> she knows the TARDIS doesn’t have transporters?”</p><p>“Hey, we’re here,” Clint replied, ignoring the question.  He pointed to the ship berthed just ahead.  “The <i>Eleanor.</i>  This is us.” </p><p>“Just keep an eye on the time,” the Doctor said as they jogged across the gangplank and onto the ship.  “We have about an hour, and then we need to be elsewhere.”</p><p>“Why?  What happens in an hour?” Clint asked.</p><p>“I’m due to show up.”  </p><p>Clint looked around at the Doctor.  He was pretty sure the <i>What the fuck?</i> was plainly written across his face.  The Doctor shook his head.</p><p>“An earlier version of me, I mean, from a couple of regenerations ago.  I was here then, but don’t show up until later.  It’s best if I’m gone before I arrive.”</p><p>Clint was beginning to regret passing on that pint back at the tavern.</p><p>“So, what happens if you run into you?”</p><p>“Possibly we have a grand time together throwing tea into the harbor and then go for a bite afterwards.  Possibly the universe explodes.  Either option and pretty much everything in between is a potential outcome.  Exploding universe would be a bit extreme, but better safe than sorry.  Things can get a bit tricky if two of the same person meet out of sync in time, especially if those people are Time Lords.”</p><p>“. . .okay then.”  Really, Clint thought, what else could he say?  “Let’s see how fast we can get this stuff into the water.”</p><p>No one noticed when the two of them ducked out.  The Boston Tea Party was in full swing by that point.  Clint and the Doctor kept to the shadows until they reached the warehouse where the others were waiting for them.  Clint was riding a very familiar-feeling high; this was just like coming right off of a successful mission where the objective had been accomplished and no one ended up bleeding.</p><p>“Oh, man, you guys should have been there!” Clint said.  “Why were you just hanging out here?”  He suddenly noticed that River, Phil, Amy, and Rory were covered in smears of a green, slimy substance.  “What the hell have you been doing?”</p><p>“Just a bit of weeding,” Amy said nonchalantly.  “While you were off rebelling we sorted out a patch of Atraxan squid weed that had taken root down here.  Harmless in winter, but by spring people in these parts would have been sprouting tentacles.”</p><p>“You’ll find we multitask a lot on these trips,” Rory added.</p><p>“Shit.”  Clint felt a mild bit of guilt.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help.”</p><p>River waved off the apology.  “It was nothing the rest of us couldn’t deal with.  Besides, this is your trip.”  She raised her eyebrows at him.  “Enjoy your act of historic vandalism?”</p><p>“Honestly?  Hell, yeah.  Down with the British!”  Clint raised a triumphant fist in the air.  Approximately three-quarters of a second later his brain overrode the adrenaline, and he remembered whose company he was in.  “Er. . .”</p><p>River, Amy, and Rory stared at him with varying degrees of bemusement.  Phil stood behind them, one hand covering his eyes.  Clint was pretty sure he was laughing.  </p><p>“Down with the British?” River said.</p><p>“Well. . .”</p><p>“So.”  River raised her eyebrows at him in a way that usually had new SHIELD recruits (and even some of the veterans) diving for cover.  “We’re vilifying my entire heritage now?”</p><p>“Well. . .you know.”  Clint shrugged.  “Townshend Acts.”</p><p>The American Revolution hadn’t just come out of nowhere.</p><p>River held the terrifying impassive stare for a few moments before she broke and grinned.  </p><p>“Relax, I’m screwing with you,” she said.  “It’s really <i>English</i> rule that’s the issue here, and I’m Scottish, remember?  The English have been utter bastards to us since long before America was ever colonized.”</p><p>“Too bloody right,” Amy agreed.</p><p>“I would just like to point out for the record,” Rory said, “that not all of us are imperialistic oppressors bent on world domination.”</p><p>The Doctor rolled his eyes and shook his head good-naturedly.  “So, where shall we go next?” he asked.  “More civil--or uncivil as it were--disobedience, or a change of pace?”</p><p>“I say we flout the law some more.  Let’s take them to Chicago,” Amy said.  She grinned at Clint, River, and Phil.  “We were there a few months back.  We landed in the 1920s and found a great speakeasy.  You’ll love it.  Trust me.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><i>June 1894</i><br/><i>Chicago, Illinois</i><p>Chicago, Summer of 1894.  That time and place meant something, historically speaking.  It started itching at the back of Clint’s brain as soon as they stepped off the TARDIS and the Doctor announced their landing spot.</p><p>“We got the right city, at least,” Amy said, looking around at the industrial surroundings.  “That’s something.  Sometimes when the TARDIS misses the mark we wind up halfway across the galaxy and ten-thousand years in the future.  Thirty years?  That’s nothing.”</p><p>“Does the TARDIS do that often?  Miss?” Phil asked curiously.</p><p>“She doesn’t exactly miss,” the Doctor said.  “The TARDIS has a mind of her own, quite literally.  I ask her to take me specific places, but sometimes she has other ideas.”</p><p>“She doesn’t always take you where you want to go, but she always takes you where you need to go,” River said.</p><p>“Yes.  Quite,” the Doctor replied.  Clint didn’t miss the troubled frown the Time Lord directed at River.  Clint had gathered, from his limited observations, that the Doctor was used to being the most informed person in the room.  It clearly bugged him that River was something he couldn’t quantify.  “Well,” the Doctor added, clapping his hands together.  “Now that we’re here, let’s explore.  There’s sure to be something interesting around here.</p><p><i>Something</i> turned out to be a riot that they stumbled into not fifteen minutes later.</p><p>“What the <i>hell</i> is this?” Rory asked as the six of them huddled behind a stack of crates at the edge of a large courtyard.  It was a tight fit, but it was a damn sight better than being in the open from what Clint could tell.  There had to be a hundred men in the courtyard, and they were in the middle of a free-for-all.</p><p>“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure they’re trying to kill each other,” River replied.  She cautiously raised her head an inch or two above their cover.  She quickly ducked back down with an arm shielding her head as a bottle crashed against the brick wall behind her.</p><p>“Right!”  The itch in the back of Clint’s head resolved itself into a coherent thought.  “June of 1894.  Chicago.  This is part of the Pullman strike.”</p><p>The others looked at him blankly.  </p><p>“Pullman strike?” Clint repeated.  “Nationwide railroad strike, one of the biggest in American history?  Major turning point in US labor law?”</p><p>Amy waggled a finger between herself and Rory.  “British.”</p><p>“Right, well, suffice to say there was a really big strike.  It lasted about three months, pissed off a lot of people, and a lot of really violent shit went down.”</p><p>“How do you know it’s the <i>Pullman</i> strike specifically?” River asked, almost conversationally.  Because really, given some of the spots they’d been in, this was a hundred country miles away from being the tightest.  “There were a lot of strikes in America around this time, weren’t there?”</p><p>Clint silently pointed over the top of the crate.  “Oh,” River said as she read the large <i>Pullman Palace Car Company</i> sign painted on the side of the building.  “So these people are union strikers?”</p><p>“Strikers, replacement workers, cops, and probably some private muscle hired by the company,” Clint replied. </p><p>There was a loud bang and their little fort shook as something crashed into the other side of it.  Clint automatically poked his head around the end of the stack of crates to see what was happening.  He just barely had time to hear Phil say, “Clint, don’t. . .” before he was springing out of their hiding place.</p><p>The crash had been caused by a man in workman’s clothes either running or being knocked into them.  The man was on the ground now, his arms raised to cover his face; a policeman was standing over him, baton raised high.  The policeman just barely had time to look startled before Clint’s fist connected with his midsection and his elbow smashed into his face.  The policeman sprawled backward onto the cobblestones.</p><p>“Shit, man.  Are you okay?” Clint asked, helping the workman up off the ground.</p><p>The workman just gaped down at the unconscious police officer, who looked a little like he was about to make a snow angel on the cobbles.  </p><p>“Right, okay,” Clint said when no answer was quickly forthcoming.  He steered the man behind the crates.  “We’ve got a nice, cozy spot back here.”</p><p>While Clint dealt with the workman, River and Phil came out, hoisted the groaning policeman up by the arms, and dragged him behind the crates as well.  The cop may not have been on the side of the angels in this instance, but this was too volatile a situation to leave him out in the open.  </p><p>“Is there anything we can do to break this up?” Phil asked when they’d all crammed in behind the crates again.</p><p>“I fear I left my riot control gear back in London,” Rory said.  “Doctor?  Any ideas?”</p><p>“Several, most of which would probably get us pummeled,” the Doctor replied.  “Unless. . .yes!  Now where did I put it?”  The Time Lord began fishing through his pockets.  “Ah ha!” he said, holding up a small gadget.</p><p>Amy frowned.  “An air horn?”</p><p>“What?  No.”  The Doctor was thumbing a control on the device’s side.  “Remember the King of Braga’s birthday?  The party favors?”</p><p>Amy and Rory clearly knew what he was talking about.  “Should I ask?” Clint said.</p><p>“Give it two seconds.  You won’t have to,” Rory replied as the Doctor raised the gadget above the edge of the crates and pressed a button.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div>“Hey.  Hey!  I think I found it,” Phil said.<p>Clint and River immediately set aside their laptops and crowded in behind Phil, who was working at his desk.  Ostensibly they were all holed up in Phil’s office at SHIELD working on reports, but in reality they were immersed in obscure historical research.</p><p>“One of the most bizarre and certainly apocryphal stories of the Pullman strike involves a violent clash between striking workers and authorities outside of the Pullman Palace Car factory,” Phil read aloud.  “According to eyewitness accounts, both sides dispersed in a panic when they were attacked by a flock of large birds.”  </p><p>Phil held up one finger in a <i>but wait--there’s more</i> gesture.</p><p>“Some witnesses even described the birds as being of a monstrous and prehistoric nature,” he continued.  “This can no doubt be ascribed to the general chaos and confusion of the situation.  Experts speculate that the birds were in fact herring gulls from nearby Lake Michigan who were agitated by the riot and responded aggressively.”</p><p>Clint made a noise like a game show buzzer.  “Try holographic pterodactyls, guys.  We need to ask the Doctor if we can borrow that projector thing.  See if maybe SHIELD R&amp;D can’t reverse engineer it.  I wouldn’t mind having one of those to take into the field.”</p><p>“I’m not sure you need one of those,” Phil said.  “That’s a little too much temptation.”</p><p>Clint looked wounded.  “You don’t trust me?”</p><p>“With the ability to produce holographic dinosaurs?  No, I do not.”  Phil leaned back in his chair.  “So, where do you think the Doctor’s going to take us next?”</p><p>“For my money?” River said.  “It will probably be one of the last places we expect.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><i>1938</i><br/><i>Pasadena, California</i><p>“I’m not going to be an extra,” Clint said.  “Full stop.  End of story.  Not happening.”</p><p>Amy glared at him, hands on her hips.  Some of the effect was ruined by her fancy princess hat with its swooping veils.  Clint couldn’t see her feet thanks to the skirt of the Ren faire dress, but he was willing to bet that she was tapping one at him.</p><p>“Why not?” she asked.</p><p>“Because Fury is still shitting bricks over that portrait of us sneaking Eddie and Ricky out of the Tower of London.”  </p><p>As far as missions with the Doctor went, saving the lives of Edward V, King of England and his little brother, Richard, Duke of York was one of the ones Clint was most proud of.  Those kids had been poised on the brink of a pair of very early graves when Clint and the others had intervened.  They’d gotten the boys out of the Tower and then the hell out of Dodge.</p><p>Just their luck they had been witnessed by fifteenth century painter with a damn near photographic memory for faces.  He had immortalized the rescue on a ten-foot stretch of canvas. Clint, River, Phil, Amy, Rory, the Doctor, and the TARDIS had all been brilliantly rendered.</p><p>The painting had been found in some old lord’s attic and gone up for auction a few months ago, which had put it on SHIELD’s radar.  Fury had not been happy about having to send agents to purchase it on the downlow to keep Clint, River, and Phil’s extracurricular activities with the Doctor under wraps.  If they started appearing in movies, Fury would probably toss all three of them in the basement of the Fridge and throw away the key.</p><p>Not that Clint didn’t <i>want</i> to be in the movie.  This was the <i>Adventures of Robin Hood</i> starring Errol Flynn.  And today they were shooting the archery tournament.  It was a classic scene. </p><p>“I assume that goes for you two as well?” Amy asked River and Phil.</p><p>“It’s probably best if we keep a low profile,” Phil said.  </p><p>“But you three should go have fun,” River added.  She nodded at something in the distance.  “I think the Doctor’s well ahead of you.”</p><p>Clint looked.  Across the grassy tournament grounds he could see Rory and the Doctor.  Rory actually made a fairly convincing looking English nobleman.  The Doctor was in full merry man get-up, complete with a goatee that made him look a little like he had a dead animal glued to his chin.  The Doctor waved at them and called something that Clint couldn’t hear.</p><p>“Well, if you’re sure. . .”  Amy was reluctant, but she knew by now how stubborn the SHIELD three could be.  Hoisting the skirts of her dress up out of tripping range, she went to join Rory and the Doctor.</p><p>It turned out that movie sets and SHIELD had something in common.  They both involved a lot of “hurry up and wait.”.  They’d been beating around the set for over two hours and as far as Clint could tell, no one had filmed a damn thing yet.</p><p>That was where the resemblence to SHIELD ended.  SHIELD might have its faults, but orderliness was kind of its thing.  If there was any orderliness to this film set Clint, even with his vision, wasn’t seeing it.  People were milling around in costume or carrying props and equipment.  Occasionally guys with megaphones called out instructions and a mass of people would move from one place to the other, but there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it.  </p><p>“I wonder what they’re doing?” River said as they circled the green area that was serving as the tournament grounds.  There was a group of men at its center in front of the archery targets, having what looked like a heated conversation.</p><p>“They’re probably setting up for the stunt shot,” Clint replied.  “Where Robin Hood fires the shot that splits the arrow down the middle?  Howard Hill was the archer they brought in to do it;  I think he did all the arrow stunts, actually.  You know, they don’t actually know for sure how he did the split arrow?  The most likely theory is that the first arrow was extra large and made out of bamboo, and then for the second arrow there was a wire that. . .are they coming over here?”</p><p>Sure enough, six men in rolled-up shirtsleeves, ties askew, were bearing down on Clint, River, and Phil’s spot at the edge of the action.  Clint’s danger sense pinged when he saw that the Doctor was walking alongside the leader, talking and gesturing enthusiastically.  “What’s happening?”</p><p>“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that something has befallen Mr. Hill and the Doctor has offered you up to make the shot they need,” River said.</p><p>“Hey, buddy.  You.”  The man in the lead halted in front of Clint.  “Your name’s Barton?  I’m Michael Curtiz, the director.  This guy,” he jerked his thumb at the Doctor, “says you’re some kind of archery wizard.  Is that true?” </p><p>“Oh, he is,” the Doctor replied before Clint could.  “He won the gold medal in archery in the 8259 Olympics on the Moon of Taab.  There’s none better.”</p><p>Thank God, Curtiz didn’t seem to be paying much attention to what the Doctor was saying beyond the word <i>archery.</i>  </p><p>“Listen, we have a problem,” Curtiz went on.  “The guy who’s supposed to do our stunt shots is down with food poisoning.  Bad brisket from the craft tent or something.  Anyway, he’s out of commission, and we need to get these shots today.  I mean, look at this.”  He waved his arm at the masses of costumed extras and colorful tents spread out on the field.  “Rescheduling is going to be a pain in the ass.  Your friend says you can do it, no problem.”</p><p>Clint blinked, then turned to River.  “Okay, how did you call that?”</p><p>“Please.”  River smiled.  “What else could it have been?”</p><p>“So, can you?” Curtiz asked impatiently.</p><p>Before Clint could respond, Phil stepped up, clapping a hand on Clint’s shoulder.  “He sure can, sir.”</p><p>Curtiz nodded in satisfaction and began to confer with his colleagues.  Clint turned to Phil.  “What happened to staying under the radar?” he said.</p><p>“Yeah, but. . .come on.”  Phil shrugged with a grin.  “It’s the iconic scene.  You have to do it.  Anyway, they won’t be filming you, just the arrow shots, right?”</p><p>Clint sighed.  “If I wind up with a film credit, I’m telling Fury it’s your fault.”  </p><p>That said, he wasn’t turning this down.  Like Phil said, <i>iconic.</i></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><i>April 1861</i><br/><i>Somewhere in the Wyoming Territory</i><p>“Yes, that is definitely broken,” Rory said.</p><p>The kid (he couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and that was if River was being generous) groaned in what sounded to River like a mixture of pain and disgust.  He fell backward onto the matted prairie grass as Rory gently eased his leg into a slightly more natural looking position.  “The dang horse just spooked. I think it was a snake.  Thought for sure I was going to die out here.”</p><p>“Well, that’s not going to happen,” River said reassuringly.  </p><p>“That’s right,” Amy added.  She was standing over Rory’s other shoulder.  “Don’t worry.  We’ll get you sorted out.”</p><p>“Yeah, Phil will be back with my medical kit any minute,” Rory said.  “I’m Rory.  What’s your name?”</p><p>“Jimmy.”</p><p>As Rory and Amy talked to distract young Jimmy from the pain of his broken leg, River straightened up and looked over the surrounding landscape.  Jimmy probably wasn’t exaggerating the seriousness of his situation. They were in the middle of nowhere out here, with no people or signs of human habitation as far as the eye could see.  According to the Doctor’s reckoning, they were only ten miles or so from Fort Laramie, but even so.  It was possible that another passerby might have found him, but Jimmy was just as likely to have died from exposure or dehydration if the TARDIS hadn’t landed so close by.</p><p>The land here rolled.  The TARDIS was perched on a rise about fifty yards away.  As River watched, Phil exited carrying the backpack that Rory kept his medical supplies in.  Movement much closer to her left caused her to turn her head.  The Doctor was approaching, holding a cowboy hat aloft triumphantly.</p><p>“I found his hat!” the Doctor announced.</p><p>“Excellent.  What about the horse?” River asked.  That had been the thing young Jimmy had been most concerned about.</p><p>The Doctor gestured at something over his shoulder and, as he moved out of the way, River saw Clint in the distance behind him leading a chestnut horse.  The animal looked no worse for wear given its little misadventure.  Clint looked only mildly grass-stained for having caught it.</p><p>In addition to Rory’s medical pack, Phil had also grabbed a bottle of water from the TARDIS.  Jimmy looked at it hesitantly for only a split second before he started to drain the contents.  “Careful.  You’ll make yourself sick,” Phil said.</p><p>“Head’s up, Phil.  Clint’s on his way with the horse,” River warned him.  </p><p>“Why does Phil need a head’s up about the horse?” Amy asked.</p><p>“Phil and horses don’t get along,” River said in perfect unison with Phil’s, “No reason.  It’s no big deal.”</p><p>The Doctor had joined them in time to hear this sidebar.  “Oh, this is about Phil’s pony fear, is it?”</p><p>“It’s not <i>fear,</i>” Phil bristled.  “I just had a bad experience.”  </p><p>All the same, he eyed the horse warily as Clint joined them.  For his part, Jimmy looked relieved, and River didn’t think it was entirely from the shot of analgesic Rory had just given him.  </p><p>“Mister, I can’t believe you caught him.  I can’t thank you enough,” he said to Clint.</p><p>“I guess cowboys really bond with their horses, don’t you?” Rory said, rolling out a reinforced, full-length leg splint.</p><p>Jimmy looked mildly scandalized.  “I ain’t a cowboy.  I ride for the Pony Express.”</p><p>Clint looked impressed.  “No shit?”</p><p>“No, sir.  I’ve got important dispatches that I need to get to Ft. Laramie.”</p><p>“And we’ll help you with that as soon as we take care of your leg,” the Doctor said.  “Rory here is good at that sort of thing.  We’ll just pop you up to the TARDIS and you’ll be as good as new.”</p><p>Rory finished splinting Jimmy’s leg and flipped open a Sontaran-issue field stretcher, which he and Amy maneuvered the boy onto with only a few pained complaints.  That done, Rory, Amy, Phil, and the Doctor each took a corner and started making their way to the TARDIS.  River started to fall in behind them, then realized Clint wasn’t following.</p><p>River turned and doubled back.  “Hey.  What’s up?” she asked.</p><p>“Nothing,” Clint replied quickly.  “I guess we should get going.”</p><p>But River didn’t miss much when it came to Clint.  She saw the way his eyes drifted from her to the horse to the dusty trail that cut a westward path through the grass.  She smiled knowingly.</p><p>“You want to finish the ride, don’t you?”</p><p>“That would be crazy, wouldn’t it?” Clint said.</p><p>After all, once Rory finished working on Jimmy’s leg, the Doctor could transport them all (horse included) to Ft. Laramie in near instantaneous comfort.  There was no <i>need</i> to go old-school western.  But then if everything could be done the easy way, what was the point of going off on adventures in Time and Space in the first place?</p><p>“It wouldn’t be the craziest thing I’ve ever seen you do.”  River leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek.  “Go.  We’ll see you in Ft. Laramie.  We’ll meet up at the pub.  There’s sure to be one.”</p><p>Clint grinned at her.  “Saloon, woman.”</p><p>River rolled her eyes.  “Don’t fall off and break anything on your way.”</p><p>Phil was waiting at the door of the TARDIS when River reached it.  “What the fuck is he doing?” he asked, his eyes on the trail of dust that Clint and Jimmy’s horse were leaving in their wake.</p><p>River shrugged.  “Riding for the Pony Express,” she said.  “Oh, come on, Phil,” she added as Phil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “You didn’t really expect him to pass up the chance, did you?”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><i>May 1954</i><br/><i>New York City</i><br/><i>Metropolitan Museum of Art</i><p>When they’d first started running with the Doctor, he had promised them “All of Time and Space, anything that ever happened or ever will.”  Phil had to admit, he’d found that idea of infinite possibilities a little overwhelming.  What he had learned was that as unlimited as that scope might seem, it was dwarfed by all of the things throughout history that <i>didn’t</i> happen.</p><p>Like the time that an ancient alien artifact <i>didn’t</i> cause a disaster at the Met, taking a founding member of SHIELD with it, because the Doctor and his gang were there to stop it.  Or, more to the point, contain it.</p><p>“Clint, you’d better not be dead down there,” Phil muttered.  </p><p>Phil knelt at the edge of the open shaft, straining to see something in the darkness below.  They were in the bowels of the Met.  This shaft, which the Doctor had directed them to, led deeper still.  Clint had disappeared down it almost ten minutes ago with the artifact.</p><p><i>I was on the planning committee for this building,”</i> the Doctor had told them over coms.  <i>“There’s a vault at the bottom of the shaft.  I had a number of them built in for just this sort of situation.  You’d be astounded at the number of dangerous items that wind up in museums, especially museums that deal in antiquities.”</i></p><p>Lesson learned.  This particular artifact had decided to start emitting sonic frequencies during a huge gala.  Those frequencies had affected everyone in the immediate area to a greater or lesser degree.  The mild cases had included headaches, nausea, and some nosebleeds.  Phil could still feel a telltale throbbing behind his eyes.  The more extreme cases had included seizures and wildly erratic behavior, and there had been a whole swath of fun manifestations in between.  </p><p>Even the Doctor had been afflicted.  In fact he’d been worse off than most of the humans.  Amy and Rory had hustled him back to the TARDIS, parked on the roof; only then had the effects eased.  But there had been no good way to get a few hundred panicked and half-crazed people to calmly evacuate the building.  If the people couldn’t be removed from the artifact, the artifact had to be removed from the people, permanently.</p><p>So, it was fortunate for everyone that the Doctor and his gang had decided to crash the party.  They were doubly fortunate that the gang had one member who was completely immune to the artifact’s sonic effects.  Clint’s deafness came in handy at the weirdest times.</p><p>Phil heard footsteps come up behind him and a moment later River knelt down beside him.  The skirt of her ballgown spread out around her like a blue puddle and she rested gloved hands on the edge of the hole.</p><p>“Anything yet?” she asked, not bothering to mask the trace of anxiety in her voice.</p><p>“Not yet,” Phil said.  </p><p>They didn’t have coms, and even if they did they’d be useless in this case.  Clint wouldn’t be able to hear them any more than he’d be able to hear them if they called down the shaft.</p><p>“How’s the situation upstairs?”  Phil asked.  “Is it calming down at all?”</p><p>The Great Hall had been descending into a state of confused bedlam the last Phil had seen.  Of course, the artifact had been in a room not far from the main action.  They had been crossing their fingers that, as had been the case with the Doctor, the effects would be lessened the farther they moved it from the crowd.</p><p>“Well. . .yes and no,” River said.  “People seem to be starting to recover, but now they’re calling in the police, the hospitals, you name it.  Phil?” Phil took his eyes off the dark hole in order to meet River’s mildly chagrined gaze.  “Howard Stark is here.  He’s called in SHIELD.”</p><p>Phil groaned and scrubbed his hand over his face.  “Well, okay.  We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”</p><p>It would be a little inconvenient--not to mention embarrassing--if they got caught by a former incarnation of their own agency on their way out.</p><p>Phil and River waited together in tense silence.  Every handful of seconds, River would drum her gloved fingers on the edge of the hole.  Phil calculated that she was about five minutes away from launching herself down the ladder, ball gown and all, to go look for Clint.</p><p>But about the three minute mark, Phil’s eyes picked up movement in the darkness below.  A second later a head of light brown hair filmed grey with dust and cobwebs came into view.  Clint tilted his head back and grinned when he saw Phil and River waiting for him above.</p><p>“You guys worried about me or something?” he asked, a little louder than necessary.  His voice bounced off the walls of the narrow shaft.</p><p>“What?” Phil replied.  “Just because you carried a cursed object down into what looks like Pennywise the Clown’s vacation home?”</p><p>His reply was wasted, though, as Clint had already looked down again to finish climbing up the ladder.  He reached the top and boosted himself up onto the lip of the hole, swinging his feet in the shaft and grinning at Phil and River.  The fucking kid looked about twelve years old.  </p><p>“Well, that was easy.  Compared to our usual, anyway,” he said, fishing his hearing aids out of the inner pocket of his jacket and reinserting them in his ears. </p><p>“The Doctor’s vault?  As secure as he claims?” River asked.</p><p>“Seems to be.  I had to climb down a good thirty feet.  The vault door was two feet thick and had one of those psychic locks.  Thank God I actually know what lemon curd smells like.”</p><p>The three of them tried to neaten themselves up enough to venture back upstairs without attracting undue attention.  Not that they really had to worry, Phil thought.  The Great Hall was still in a state of low-level chaos as everyone tried to figure out what had happened.  And now uniformed police officers were milling around in the mix.</p><p>“You said Stark called in SHIELD?” Phil asked River.</p><p>He could see Howard Stark standing in a small clear oasis in the middle of the action, talking to what appeared to be high ranking members of the police department and the director of the Met.  It was uncanny how much the man looked like his son, Tony.  It wasn’t so much in the face; it was the sort of resemblance that didn’t really translate to photos.  But the way he stood, carried himself, and spoke was similar enough to have made Phil do a double-take.</p><p>“Yeah.  In fact, I’d say they’re already here,” River said.  “Take a look around the perimeter.”</p><p>River was right.  Phil easily picked out the four men and two women on the fringes of the crowd.  They were dressed unobtrusively, which ironically made them stand out like sore thumbs at a New York gala.  If any civilians were paying attention, they’d probably write them off as museum employees.  This would be the SHIELD advance guard.  Others would be coming.</p><p>“Okay, it’s fine,” Phil said.  “They won’t find anything, and they’ll let everyone out eventually.  We’ll just sit tight and--”</p><p>“Fuck,” Clint said.  When Phil and River turned to look at him, he nodded at the center of the hall.  “That’s who I think it is, isn’t it?”</p><p>A new woman had arrived: tiny, blonde, and very pretty, dressed in a neat grey suit.  There was nothing especially remarkable about her except for the way she was causing people to part like the Red Sea ahead of her as she homed in on Howard Stark.</p><p>“That’s Meg Downing,” River said, echoing Phil’s inner thoughts.  </p><p>“She can’t see us here, right?” Clint said.  “She’s seen us in her future.  And she’s the sort who would remember.”</p><p>“Yes, she would.”  Phil said.  Clint was right.  Howard Stark hadn’t been a problem.  None of them had ever met the man, but Director Downing was another matter.  “Okay, Plan B.  To hell with blending in.  We’re going to sneak up to the roof and get the hell out of here before either Stark or Downing spots the TARDIS.”</p><p>No matter what the Doctor said about Time being elastic, it was probably best to keep the paradoxes to a minimum.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*****</p>
</div><i>Meanwhile, in the Great Hall</i><p>“If you gentlemen would excuse me?” Howard said, stepping away from the police captain and the director of the Met without waiting to see if they actually would excuse him.  Meg Downing made her way across the room, with her assistant, Edmund Bradshaw, trailing along behind her.  </p><p>“Howard,” she said, as he closed the distance between them, undoing his bowtie as he walked.</p><p>“Meg.  Thought you had a date tonight, and that’s why you couldn’t join me.”</p><p>“I did,” said Meg.  “But Bradshaw got the report on this and alerted me, and it seemed to take precedence.”</p><p>Howard swept a hand in the general direction of her impeccable grey suit.  “That’s what you wore on a date?  Where’d he take you?  A library?”</p><p>“I changed on the way over.  I thought what I was wearing, or more correctly what I wasn’t, might be a bit distracting.”</p><p>Howard considered calling bullshit on that.  Oh, not on the fact that Meg could be distracting -- he might think of her as basically a sister, but he wasn’t blind.  But on the fact that anyone, even Meg Downing, could look that put together after changing in a moving car.  But then, if anyone could . . .</p><p>“When do I get to meet this guy, anyway?”  Howard asked, instead.  “I don’t think you should be dating someone I haven’t met.  I don’t think Jamie would approve.”</p><p>“Probably not,” Meg agreed.  “But we both know that even when my brother was alive, I only did what he wanted if it was something I was planning to do anyway.”  Meg looked around.  “Where’d your date go?  What’s This Week’s name, again?  Stella?  Sylvia?  Sarah?”</p><p>“I had Jarvis take her home when I called SHIELD,” said Howard, sidestepping the issue of the girl’s name. He had been perfectly certain it was <i>Stella</i> until Meg had said <i>Sylvia.</i></p><p>“Poor thing won’t even get to earn her bracelet,” Meg said drily.  “I suppose you’ll have to make it up with Next Week.”</p><p>“Maybe I will.”</p><p>“You need to settle down, Howard.”</p><p>“Not in this lifetime, Meg. Too much to do.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Meg said, and then her tone changed to something brisker and more businesslike.  “Speaking of, what have we got going on here?”</p><p>“Couple of things,” Howard said.  “Something happened during the party, I don’t know what yet, but people started getting sick.  Nothing too serious at first -- headaches, dizziness, stuff like that.”</p><p>“Nosebleeds?” Meg asked.</p><p>“Some.”</p><p>“Is that what happened here?” she asked, reaching up and almost touching the collar on his shirt.  By going cross-eyed, Howard could just make out the bloodstain.  “Have you been checked out?” she continued, without waiting for his answer to the previous question.</p><p>“I’m fine, Meg.”</p><p>“I’d be more inclined to believe you if I hadn’t been present for some of your previous interpretations of <i>fine.</i>”</p><p>“I’m fine.  Anyway, things started getting weirder.  Some people started getting worse, and then some people went a little nuts.  Then it just ended.  We’re testing the food and the drinks, but if you ask me, it’s a long shot.  Behaviors all began and ended more or less simultaneously, and that’s not going to happen with things being ingested at different rates.”</p><p>“Airborne?”  Meg asked.</p><p>“Possible, I guess, but again, I think it’s too uniform.”</p><p>“Device we haven’t seen before, then?” Meg asked.  “That started and then stopped.”</p><p>Howard nodded.  “That’s my working hypothesis.  Of course, figuring out just what and just where it is in a building this size, we’re going to be here a while.  I’ve sent for a team to screen and process what we can, put Pym in charge.”</p><p>Meg’s eyebrows edged up almost imperceptibly.  “The new guy?  Not handling this yourself?”</p><p>“There’s something else going on here, too,” Howard said.  He looked around and decided he didn’t like how close some of the civilians were standing.  He gestured for Meg to follow him and headed over to a relatively empty corner.  He would prefer it if Bradshaw waited, but he knew the man would follow them.  He seemed to be trustworthy enough, though.</p><p>“What’s going on, Howard?”</p><p>“There’s some kind of radiation.  I found it in the initial scan of the place.  Low-level and I don’t think it’s dangerous, but weird.  I think it’s the same one I saw at my party,” he said, holding out the small scanner in his hand.</p><p>“Party?”</p><p>“I know I told you about it. The weird radiation the night Marilyn married that guy and then he disappeared into thin air and hasn’t been seen since?  The party at my house in California?”</p><p>“Oh, right, and you had to console her,” Meg said.</p><p>“She was very distraught.  It took a lot of consoling.”</p><p>Meg’s eyebrows darted up rather more significantly.  “Does she have a Stark Special Bracelet?”</p><p>“Meg.  My dear, sweet, innocent Meg,” Howard said.  “She’s Marilyn Monroe.  She has the whole . . . Peru.”</p><p>“<i>Parure,</i>” Meg corrected.</p><p>“Point is, the equipment at my house was detecting this odd radiation then, and I’m detecting what looks like the same radiation now,” he said, shoving the scanner at her for emphasis.  “And weird stuff happened both nights.”</p><p>Meg glanced down at the scanner and then back up to Howard.  “What weird stuff happened then?”</p><p>“Who the hell marries <i>Marilyn Monroe</i> and then disappears?”</p><p>“Fair enough, I suppose.”</p><p>“So, I’m going to let Pym handle the grunt work and I’m going to look into this.  He’s bright, ambitious, he’ll be fine.  I don’t know what this radiation is, <i>yet</i>, but I think it’s significant and I want to figure it out.  I’m <i>going</i> to figure it out.”</p><p>“Well, it’s your wheelhouse, Howard.  You arrange it as you see fit.”  Meg looked over her shoulder.  “Mr. Bradshaw?”</p><p>“Ma’am?”</p><p>“Would you assist Mr. Stark with whatever he needs?  Within reason, of course.”</p><p>The man nodded.  “Of course, ma’am.  Mr. Stark.”</p><p>“Excellent,” Meg said.  “I’ll leave you to it.  And I’m going to do what I can to pre-smooth any soon-to-be-ruffled feathers with the museum administration.”</p><p>“What makes you think I’m going to ruffle any feathers, Meg?”</p><p>“Experience, Howard.  Lots and lots of experience.”  She started to walk away, and called back without turning around.  “Oh, and I’m contacting Aegis.  If he says you should be checked out, you’re getting checked out.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>* * * * *</p>
</div><i>A short while later, in the lower levels of the Met</i><p>Meg looked down at the floor.  While the hole had been covered and concealed, it wasn’t properly secured.  If she had to guess, she would say that someone hadn’t had a lot of time or the proper equipment to cover their tracks.  Easy enough to fix that, though.  </p><p>Meg dug through her handbag until she found her sonic pen, dialed up the right setting and deadlock sealed the panel in the floor.  That should keep even the most thorough and curious of scientists out.</p><p>The bigger problem, of course, was that Howard was now aware of artron energy, even if he didn’t know exactly what it was.  <i>Yet.</i>  </p><p>Meg sighed, then doublechecked the deadlock seal on the panel before dropping her pen back into her handbag.   </p><p>She was going to have to report it.  The last thing anyone needed was Howard Stark figuring out how to travel in Time.</p><p>Still, Bradshaw could keep an eye on him tonight.  She would deal with things in the morning.</p>
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